


whorls

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuses the Knowledge That Ben Solo Owned a Calligraphy Set, Character Believes Others Consider Them An Inferior Substitute for Someone Else, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inferiority Complex, Intimacy, Light Angst, M/M, Stoic Character Very Manfully Avoids Talking About His Problems, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-16 02:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “I’ve seen your bad days.” Ben very politely didn’t point out that they were growing more and more frequent as time passed, but the innuendo hung in the air between them anyway. “They don’t normally end like this.”





	whorls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Ben’s weight pressed against Poe’s buttocks and thighs, his skin sticky and warm, softer than it used to be when he still flew. Ben’s knees pinned Poe at the hips, his hold tight and sure. And as long as Poe kept his face buried in the crook of his elbow, his eyes screwed shut, his focus entirely on his breathing, he could keep each and every one of his most treacherous thoughts at bay. Like how much he hated that his body no longer carried the telltale signs that he was a pilot, the callouses and aches and pains that came along with it. Now he had an all new menagerie of pains and callouses and his trips to the gym became more frantic as he realized that he spent too much time sitting around while doing none of the things he was good at.

“I never thought I’d be the one to say this,” Ben said, too damned slow to do anything for Poe’s taste, still just sitting on Poe’s back like a complete fucking asshole when Poe’d spent this whole time thinking they were finally going to do this, what with Ben being down to his underwear and Poe in even less than that, “but have you considered relaxing?”

Today wasn’t the day. Today just wasn’t the day. Today was not the day. Not when he’d just spent the entirety of it knowing he’d failed his people in a hundred microscopic ways. Ben having the temerity to lecture Poe just… it wasn’t Poe’s favorite thing to ever happen. “Have you considered shutting your mouth and fucking me like you said you were going to?”

“Yeah, often.” And though Ben spoke lightly, Poe knew it wasn’t a joke. Not exactly. Restraint wasn’t usually Ben’s forté and they both knew it. But that fact didn’t help Poe as much as he wanted it to right now. “And if I remember correctly, you asked me.”

“And I’m asking again.” Poe didn’t dare turn over and look at Ben, glare at him if necessary. If he did, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t get up and deck Ben, call the whole thing off for good. Forever. Just never, ever ask Ben for anything, but especially not this, not when he felt like the slightest move in the wrong direction would shatter him. “What do I have to do? Get on my knees and—”

They had sex sometimes. It was always a bad idea and this was precisely why. But it wasn’t usually so much of a damned ordeal. Poe knew better. He just didn’t always do better. The fact that Ben never said no and never initiated it didn’t help him feel like he was making the right decision here.

Wasn’t all that different from the rest of his life to be honest. None of his decisions lately have felt right. And he kept having to make them. All the time. For everyone.

He couldn’t turn around without someone demanding an answer from him.

Ben got his hands underneath him, nails skimming Poe’s sides as the mattress dipped, and pushed himself up. “We’re doing this my way.” His palm swept over the back of Poe’s leg, squeezed the back of his knee gently and Poe hated that almost as much as he hated yet another delay. Poe didn’t want to relax and he didn’t want gentle; he wanted a distraction. And the broad stretch of Ben’s back as he scrounged in a drawer halfway across the room wasn’t enough of one. The contents of the drawer scraped noisily as he pushed around whatever junk lived inside. Poe’s curiosity at the sound wasn’t enough of one either.

“You done yet?” Poe snapped. The sound grated his ears, picked at every single one of his nerves. Jaw tight, he breathed through his nose, counted backwards from ten. It didn’t help. As soon as Ben looked like he was going to turn back around, Poe buried his head in the pillow again, fought the urge to scream in frustration.

It was only when Ben had returned that Poe was able to get his pointless, directionless anger back under control. The feel of Ben’s skin was an anchor that Poe was perfectly happy to throw into the tempestuous waters of his mind. He might sink if he clung to it, but at least it was something other than treading water.

“What are you doing?” He shivered as Ben’s palm pressed warm between his shoulder blades. It was more than Ben had given him before, but nowhere near close enough to what he wanted. “Ben?”

“Shh.” As though in punishment, Ben removed his hand. His weight shifted slightly. And then there was the clink of wood against stone, unusual to hear in the base, where everything was made of plastoid and durasteel. Poe tried to figure out what it might have been and found his curiosity piqued again. Interested to know, he turned a bit and stretched to look. Ben’s hand immediately returned, higher, at the base of Poe’s neck instead of his back and squeezed, fingers digging into the tight knots of muscle there. Letting go again, he said, “Please. Stay put.”

“You’re the boss,” Poe answered. His stomach pitched over and heat stretched inside of him, covered every inch of him in its embrace. It shouldn’t have affected him this way, Ben’s voice, his request, but he couldn’t deny that it was doing something for him. Shifting slightly, he pressed himself into the mattress, bit back a groan. That, Poe could work with. “You could answer my question though.”

“You’ll know in a minute,” Ben replied.

Before Poe could open his mouth again, cold liquid trailed across his shoulder blades in a long, smooth stroke. Poe jumped in surprise, nearly yelping at the sensation. Soft hair tickled across his skin and Poe got the very distinct feeling it wasn’t Ben’s, which was held back more often than not by thin braids on either side of his head. Some thought it an affectation. Poe knew them for what they were: a symbol. In Alderaanian traditions, braids held many different meanings, all dependent on style and context. He’d never asked what they meant to Ben, but it wouldn’t have been hard to guess if he let himself think about it.

They all had a lot to mourn. And Ben had always taken shit so much to heart. That hadn’t changed, not even when he’d turned, and especially not since he came back.

“Are you—is that your calligraphy brush?”

“It’s my calligraphy brush.” There was a note of amusement in Ben’s voice that Poe didn’t like. It made it seem too much like Ben had the upper hand. “You got a problem with it?”

 _Yes,_ Poe thought. “I didn’t sign up to be your canvas.”

“No,” Ben agreed. “You wanted to get fucked.”

“Well, when you say it all crass like that,” Poe said, scoffing. This was utterly ridiculous. The ink from the first swipe was already beginning to dry, making his skin tight and a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, I do.”

Ben’s brush passed a second time over Poe’s skin. This time, he was ready for it, knew what to expect. The coolness of the ink served as a counterpoint to the warmth diffusing Poe’s skin. The soft, almost silken bristles traced the shape of his back, stroked easily over every ridge and plane of muscle. Poe tried to follow what Ben was doing, whether he was merely forming random shapes or writing words, but it was difficult to parse.

Every time Poe thought he had a grip on the shape, Ben would shift or sigh, and Poe’s body would respond to it. But when he tried to wriggle, Ben’s knees pressed more tightly against his hips. “Don’t move so much,” he said. “You’ll make me mess up.”

“You planning on showing me off when you’re done? Who cares?” As if to prove the point, Poe tensed and flexed his back, stretched his arms. Pressed himself again into the mattress. Whatever he was thinking, there was a part of him that was already fully on board with it. 

The thin handle of the brush dug into Poe’s skin as Ben grabbed hold of his bicep. “I care. Hold still.”

Poe wanted to balk, but need pulsed through him at Ben’s demand. Hold still. He could do that. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”

Ben hummed, pleased, and let go of Poe’s arm. Poe kind of wished he hadn’t.

“Will you tell me what you’re writing at least?” 

Snorting, Ben reached Poe’s opposite side, the brush tickling at his ribs. “Ancient love poetry,” he said, “obviously.”

“Ancient Jedi curse seems more likely.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ben said. He didn’t hesitate in his writing as he spoke. That was kind of impressive. “What the hell is the matter with you anyway? You’re not usually this wound up.” His thumb smoothed over the dried ink high on his shoulder. Poe shuddered under the touch.

“I’m allowed to have a bad day.”

“I’ve seen your bad days.” Ben very politely didn’t point out that they were growing more and more frequent as time passed, but the innuendo hung in the air between them anyway. “They don’t normally end like this.”

Poe scoffed and bit his lip as Ben’s brush followed the curve of Poe’s spine. “I’m not talking about it.”

“Okay,” Ben said. He got back to what he was doing and for a moment, Poe forgot how everything had gone to shit, how much of it could have been avoided if Poe wasn’t the one in charge.

He really fucking hated being in charge. 

Ben’s brush finally dipped into the curve of Poe’s lower back, swirled over the swell of Poe’s ass on one final, curling letter. Shuddering, Poe breathed in deeply and released it, shakier than he liked. Ben’s touch had left him enervated, on edge. He wanted to know what Ben had written, wanted the excuse of Ben’s hands on him again. 

“It’s not your fault you’re not her,” Ben said as he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of Poe’s neck, just under his ear. “Nobody could be.”

Ben’s words chilled him. Shards of ice pinned him to the bed, sliced through his heart and left him unable to move, unable to think of anything except those words. There was a time, years ago now, when Poe thought they were invincible, that they’d defeat everything the First Order threw at them.

It was about the same time they got Ben back. Incidentally. Perhaps not so incidentally.

“Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Ben said, lips brushing his earlobe, his hand coming up to card through Poe’s hair. Poe jerked out of Ben’s touch. His heart thundered in his chest and now he couldn’t imagine he’d ever be able to slow down or stop. The ice cracked and shattered and all Poe could think now was that he had to get away. He had to get away and he had to stay right here because there was nothing else and he didn’t want to be alone. But outside of this room, he was alone. All he had were subordinates and people who looked at him like he was supposed to make everything better when he’d never be able to do anything of the sort. “We’ll make it through.”

He set the calligraphy brush down on his bedside table, where it clattered and rolled toward the edge.

A hollow ache spread throughout Poe’s body, took up all the space where his anger and fear resided. It was such a relief to feel nothing instead of either of those things that he turned his head and kissed Ben as deeply as he dared.

It wasn’t enough.

And Poe didn’t think they’d make it through, not the way they would have under General Organa’s leadership, but this was what he had. They’d make it through however they could.

“Does that mean you’re gonna put out?” he asked, barely keeping the hitch from his voice, snaking his hand back to tug at Ben’s underwear. Ben, smarter than Poe gave him credit for, finally went along with it.

It would have to be enough. This would all have to be enough.

Poe didn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t.


End file.
